appearance who shivered dreadfully (though it wasn't at all cold), was
engaged in blowing the chalk-dust off the moon, toning the outline of the
back of the hermit's head with a bit of leather, and fattening the down-
stroke of a letter or two in the writing. I have forgotten to mention
that writing formed a part of the composition, and that it also--as it
appeared to me--was exquisitely done. It ran as follows, in fine round
characters: "An honest man is the noblest work of God. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
0. Pounds s. d. Employment in an office is humbly requested. Honour
the Queen. Hunger is a 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 sharp thorn. Chip chop,
cherry chop, fol de rol de ri do. Astronomy and mathematics. I do this
to support my family."

Murmurs of admiration at the exceeding beauty of this performance went
about among the crowd. The artist, having finished his touching (and
having spoilt those places), took his seat on the pavement, with his
knees crouched up very nigh his chin; and halfpence began to rattle in.

"A pity to see a man of that talent brought so low; ain't it?" said one
of the crowd to me.

"What he might have done in the coach-painting, or house-decorating!"
said another man, who took up the first speaker because I did not.

"Why, he writes--alone--like the Lord Chancellor!" said another man.

"Better," said another. "I know his writing. He couldn't support his
family this way."

Then, a woman noticed the natural fluffiness of the hermit's hair, and
another woman, her friend, mentioned of the salmon's gills that you could